gettin’ old, an’ I may as well tell you. Likely with all your larnin’ you can tell me is it any good to Cass. She be that sot on all sech.” She fumbled at her throat a moment and drew from the bosom of her gown a leather shoe-lacing, from which dangled an iron key. Slowly she undid the knot, and handed it toward him.

“I nevah ‘low nobody on earth to touch that thar box, an’ the’ ain’t a soul livin’ knows what’s in hit. I been gyardin’ them like they war gold, fer they belonged to my ol’ man — the first one — Cassandra’s fathah; but I reckon if I die the’ won’t nobody see any good in them things. If you’ll onlock that thar padlock on that box yander, you’ll find it wropped in a piece o’ gingham.